The Mycroft Ultimatum
by TeH-HeArTlEsS-ScHoLaR
Summary: Mycroft has a problem: Sherlock is in denial. Mycroft is going to help him. Sherlock/John.rated M for future chapters and 'cause I want it to be.picks up from TGG pool and goes on.
1. Share because you care

_**The Mycroft Ultimatum**_

Summary: Mycroft has a problem, Sherlock is in denial.

Additional facts: Sherlock hates sharing.

Solution: Steal John.

_**Disclaimer:...If I really owned Sherlock, do you **_**really**_** think I would be here writing instead of directing the lastest Sherlock/John on screen smut action?**_

_**Anyway, I don't own BBC's Sherlock or any other things relating back to them save for the ideas written here and chasing around in my head.**_

**Share Because You Care**

**Mycroft's POV**

Mycroft Holmes breathed out a groan, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose before being dragged down his face in a seldom seen gesture of frustration. His other hand slid around the top edge of his now black screen before pulling it down with much more force than necessary. Pushing himself up from his dark redoak desk with both hands, his stiffened back protested this motion, drawing out another groan from the older Holmes. Mycroft couldn't simply believe his brother sometimes.

It had been near on four weeks since the whole "pool incident" as John had so dubbed it. Mycroft, himself, had another name for it, "Sherlock's most idiotic maneuver to date." Though what he'd just seen play out on the screen threatened to nick that particular title. Mycroft breathed out again, this time as a sigh. He'd seen such behavior from Sherlock before, just after their family dog had been diagnosed terminal. Sherlock had distanced himself as far as possible from the poor creature, just as he was with John now. The only apparent difference (besides the obvious, come now people)was that the further and harder Sherlock pushed John away the more forcefully John dug in his heels. He was grateful for the soldiers understanding and resilience, even though it only earned him glares and stinging comments from his brother. Mycroft started to pace. John was loyal, and stalwart yes, but he couldn't keep this front up forever. John's soldier constitution was bound to give way at some point, besides he owed the man.

The only reason his brother was still breathing, Moriarty was not, and Harriett Watson was not rampaging through the streets of London, was John. John springing just the bullet passed through the barrel. John twisting mid-fall to toss his shoe at Moriarty's retreating feet, effectively ending his retreat. John covering Sherlock with his own body. John's back filling with shrapnel. John pulling Sherlock out of the pool. John checking Sherlock's vitals, ignoring his own. John calling 999. John slipping into unconsciousness just after help was assured. The doctor had had a two week long stint in the hospital while Sherlock had to endured only a single week. Sherlock had also visited the good doctor on many occassions, it was only after their united return to their Backer Street flat that Sherlock had, as John would undoubtedly say, 'flipped his lid'. The dective had tried his utmost to deter the army doctor from staying by his side.

Mycroft breathed a heavy sigh. You stop his pacing back at his desk. He settled himself again in his high-backed desk chair, spinning himself away from his desk. Picking up his (infamous) umbrella, he began swinging it. Back and forth like a great, pointed pendulum. Those who didn't know Mycroft well (most everyone) would say he looked a high CEO or a likewise high standing business official completely a peace. Those who **did** know Mycroft, (with the addition of John he now had a full hand) saw he was anything but peaceful. The eldest Holmes brother was scheming.

If he did not interfere in Sherlock would continue his self-sequestering push of John. Mycroft knew John was a doctor, and so, used to being patient with unruly sick people. He also knew John was a soldier, and so, loyal to a fault. Sherlock could be very loyal as well, but he was endlessly petulant and childlike. Mycroft huffed yet another sigh, switching his umbrella pendulum to his other hand. Maybe he was going about this in the wrong way. Sherlock, for all his brilliance, was very childlike in his emotions. Perhaps he needed to sort this matter in a manner that fitted to the problem maker. Mycroft stop his swinging, rest his umbrella against the chair side, brought both hands to rest, knitted under his chin, in a fashion eerily reminiscent of his brother.

These were the facts:

• Sherlock needed John

• John needed Sherlock

• John gets hurt protecting Sherlock

• Sherlock is pushing John away

(sub-point: Sherlock feels guilty)

This was the problem:

If John gave in, moved out, Sherlock would spiral (Mycroft was also certain John spiral too, but not quite as dramatically)

Additional facts:

• John liked Sherlock (more than he knew)

• Sherlock possibly loved John

• Sherlock hated sharing

Mycroft's head popped up. That was it! Sherlock was always very possessive. No matter how much Sherlock was pushing John away, presumably to save himself and John heart ache, Mycroft wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock still thought of John as his.

Anyone walking and Mycroft's Office would have turned tail and run at the gleam in his eyes. A plan that, if successful, would solve so many problems, as well as prevent many more. He went and even need to involve a third party, because there was no one Sherlock detested sharing with more than his older brother.

.

.

.

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><p><strong>OK, so tell me what you think. I'm kinda new to this whole writting thing so any feedback would be welcome.<strong>

** Review and tell me what you think or send ideas. I might a little slow in posting but i'll try and the chapter up by next week and make it longer.**

**Thanks! ^w^**


	2. Plan in Action

Hi everyone!

First, I'd like to thank you for all the reviews and feedback; I really never thought anyone would really like it. Second, enjoy! ^w^

_**Disclaimer: I still don't own Sherlock, John, Mycroft or any other characters from BBC's Sherlock…no matter how much I want to…**_

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><p><strong>Plan in Action<strong>

**Mycroft's POV**

The day had begun, from anyone else's standpoint, as it normally did. Anthea woke him up promptly, he indulged in his morning meal, and clad himself in his usual daywear before departing his flat in the standard, anonymous, black polished car. As such, anyone else would be wrong. Though the actions had been completed just the same as every other day, they were performed in a very different state of mind.

Amid the various political plots and schemes systematizing themselves in his mind there were plots and schemes of a more _amorous _nature, more specifically on how to make his brother see them as romantic and for John to not. He also couldn't be as speedy with this as he would've liked. The easiest way for Sherlock to confront his own emotions towards the doctor, would be to make him perceive them as being threatened. After having reviewed John's work schedule two nights ago he had determined that this morning would be the optimum opportunity, John's day off coinciding quite nicely with Sherlock at the flat with no case, in short, perfect.

"Baker Street" He informed the driver placing his umbrella atop his knees, looking out at the streets of London.

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><p>Mycroft arrived on Baker Street within a reasonable timeframe and let himself out. Strolling up to the door of 221b he was mildly surprised to find himself feeling slightly anxious. As he knocked on the door he idly wondered of this was how his little brother felt when first presented with a case. He bushed the thought aside and made his face carefully blank as Mrs. Hudson opened the door. He walked by, nodding a greeting to her, which was received and reciprocated. He made his way upstairs ignoring her warnings of 'Sherlock's in a mood'.<p>

Mycroft was greeted with a shrieking recital courtesy of consulting detective, lasting a few minutes before,

"Mycroft if you're here for a case, I regret to inform you tha-"

"I'm here for John actually" The briefest flash of surprise followed by barest hint of anger, ending with the sharp snap of his jaw told Mycroft that he had indeed been correct in his assumption. Sherlock was still very much under the impression that John was his. The narrowing of Sherlock's quicksilver eyes in his direction only confirmed what he was well aware of, Sherlock didn't want to share.

There was a rustle in the kitchen before John popped his head around "me?"

"Yes, you" John's body followed his head as cautiously paced into the room. His limp was back.

"Can I ask why?" Sherlock's eyes had yet to even glance at John. John shifted off his bad leg.

"Most certainly, I wanted to see how you were, health-wise, as I hadn't had much of an opportunity since the hospital." Sherlock's eyes were now fixedly studying the strings of his violin.

"I'm as well as one could expect, but that's not the only reason you're here." Sherlock's head whipped up to look at his brother. Interesting.

''Quite right Doctor, I wanted see if you cared to have a chat with me over brunch." Those stormy orbs were trained firmly on him now, scowl etched decisively on his face.

"A chat over brunch? And you're actually asking me?" Now John was looking at him as well, bemused but he didn't seem overly bothered.

"I f you would prefer I could always have my car pick you up on your way to th-"

"No-no that's fine, I'll just go and get my coat, bit nippy out." Mycroft watched the army doctor glance around the room before heading (limping) to the stairs leading to his room.

"Something to ask, dear brother" turning back to meet his younger sibling's glare.

"What do you want from him Mycroft" rather bit of bite to that last.

"Exactly what I said 'Lockie" Sherlock visibly bristled at the use of the long forgotten nickname.

"'Lockie?" The doctor now donned a forest green jacket, left unzipped showing the cream cable knit jumper underneath. His dark tan trousers and coffee colored shoes completed a look that was clearly 'John'.

"Old nickname." Mycroft provided gesturing to the door with his umbrella. John nodded to his answer and, calling 'later Sherlock', moved to leave, Mycroft nodded his goodbyes and followed.

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><p><strong>John's POV<strong>

John had once had a patient whose wife had wanted to add some spice to their marriage. So, as present for his birthday, she called an old friend who'd been her roommate at uni and had been a friend to both ever since they'd started dating. When poor man's birthday arrived he was happy as a lark to find his present waiting for him in the bedroom. What the friend hadn't told the wife was that she had brought a couple of toys. So when the man and his wife started to get busy, so did she. One 'opps', a squabble or two, a brief panic attack and a very embarrassing cab ride later John had had the awkward job of helping poor man.

John could now definitely say that having brunch with Mycroft (well he had brunch, Mycroft had tea) was worse. (Though not by much) Not to say that Mycroft was doing anything particularly strange, but that's just it, Mycroft was sitting here talking with him like an old mate. Their conversation had thus far included both of their favorite breakfast foods, John's health, John's rugby teams, their preferences of tea or coffee, how the weather was (the weather people!) If it wasn't for his appearance and that damned umbrella, John was certain he could be talking to Mike or catching up with one of his mates from his army days! Not his flat mate and supposed best friend's (John wasn't too sure on that bit at the moment) Arch-enemy. Right, 'bout time to figure out what was going on.

"Mycroft" John spoke while fixing his tea "what exactly are you doing"

"I'm not doing anything" Mycroft didn't even bat an eyelash. John didn't know why he expected anything more as he gazed evenly at the man across from him. He was silent for a while before asking

"Will whatever it is you're not doing in anyway negatively affect Sherlock, or anyone else we know?" Mycroft smiled lightly before replying with

"Not that I am aware." John nodded, picking up his cup.

"Right then, carry on." He took a drink.

When John got back to the flat he was greeted with the _bang, bang, bang _that told him first, that Sherlock had been in his room again, second that the insane man he lived and worked with was either hideously bored, or destructively irate, and third, that he was going to have to smooth down quite a couple of ruffled feathers from their landlady before the day was through. Maybe he should have taken a second cup of tea. _Or _his mind said _you could've not fancied your insane, sociopathic, brilliant, idiotic flat mate who is completely __**NOT**__ interested._ Yeah, or that.

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><p><strong>YAY! 'Nother chapter. Hope you guys liked it. Review please, I always love feedback. Also if anyone has any ideas for other 'dates' for Mycroft to take John out on, I would love to hear them.<strong>

**Thanks for reading! ^w^**


	3. Methanol Plus Boric Acid

Hiya everyone!

I'd like to thank SilverSmile, alrock6, WitchWarren and Margarette for their MDI's(Mycroft Dating Ideas) I will be sure to include them at some point in the story if I can. I'd also like to thank all the other reviewers and readers for being so nice, it really helps when I'm writing. Hope you enjoy! This one starts kinda from the middle of the last one, but from Sherlock's POV. I'm not nearly as smart as him it might turn out horribly, but I'll be switching POVs so don't worry.

**Disclaimer: Still not mine  
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><p><strong>Methanol Plus Boric Acid<br>**

**Sherlock's POV**

Hearing the, unfortunately familiar, sound of that abominable umbrella swishing at my brother's side, I couldn't reach for my violin fast enough. Not that I had to reach far, John had made it a point place it on the coffee table whenever he found it. John said it served to both keep me from stepping on the table when Lestrade called with a case and to keep me from tearing apart the rooms looking for it when it was misplaced. _John-_no, I instantly cut off that train of thought, I didn't much care for the feeling that came from it.

Mycroft was in the doorway now. I offered an A sharp as a greeting. I had found that the fastest way to deal with Mycroft was to shoot him down as before he could make his demands, which I promptly did

"Mycroft if you're here for a case, I regret to inform you tha-"

"I'm here for John actually" I had not expected that and I'm sure he could see it in my eyes. It was then that the full implications of his statement became apparent; he was going to take John, MY John. I'm sure he could see that emotion to, if not in my eyes then in the click that sounded as my lower jaw met my upper.

At the sound of his name John's head popped around with a curious "me?"

"Yes, you" Not if I could help it. I was not going to keep John safe by allowing _Mycroft_ to get his hands on him. John was walking into the room now. I refused to look at him, to confirm what my ears were hearing, that John was getting his limp back. _Because of you, _echoed in a deep part of my brain, I crushed it down.

"Can I ask why?" Yes Mycroft, why? Why do you want to take him?

"Most certainly, I wanted to see how you were, health-wise, as I hadn't had much of an opportunity since the hospital." I fixed my gaze to the strings of my violin. He had to pick that, didn't he? Had to bring back that damned emotion.

"I'm as well as one could expect, but that's not the only reason you're here." Mycroft's first to me had almost been overshadowed by the forcibly induced emotion. Almost.

''Quite right Doctor, I wanted see if you cared to have a chat with me over brunch." No, John didn't care to have a chat over brunch.

"A chat over brunch? And you're actually asking me?" I really hated the glint that came to my brother's eyes when he knew he was win.

"If you would prefer I could always have my car pick you up on your way to th-"

"No-no that's fine, I'll just go and get my coat, bit nippy out." Absolutely abhorred it. I chose not to listen to John's ascending of the stairs in favor of glaring at my brother, digging up all the resentment I could find. I did not have to look far.

"Something to ask, dear brother" Yes, there is most definitely '_something to ask'  
><em>

"What do you want from him Mycroft" I made sure even a deaf person could hear just how I felt.

"Exactly what I said 'Lockie" Liar!

" 'Lockie?" it didn't sound quite as bad when John said it…

"Old nickname." Mycroft answered for me, pointing that ridiculous umbrella of his at our door. Then John left with my brother at his heels, only pausing to say goodbye to me.

After the door closed I rushed towards the window to see John climbing into one of Mycroft's shiny black cars. I stood there long after I could no longer make out their car before turning around and making my way up to John's room, I needed to shoot something.

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><p><strong>John's POV<strong>

"Sherlock, what are you doing."

When I had gotten home from my rather odd brunch I hadn't known entirely what I expected to see. What I did know was that it was not this. After hearing the shots fired from my gun I had expected that our wall had gotten a new decoration, perhaps another smiley. I had fully expected to have to offer sincere apologies to Mrs. Hudson, maybe even endure a lecture or two. As usual when one dealt with Sherlock Holmes, I was wrong.

Sherlock had set himself up a make-shift firing range. He was using my chair to steady his aim as he fired at the target pinned to an upturned table. The target of choice was a blown up picture of Mycroft, at least that's who it seemed to be. Sherlock had done a rather good job of destroying the targets face, which brings us around to my first question.

"target practice" it was quipped and edgy, but it was the best I'd gotten from him all week.

"Obviously" I quoted dryly. Sherlock had already ruined our table several times in the last few weeks.

Sherlock huffed childishly and went back to aiming at the poor possibly-Mycroft picture. I let him shoot once more before stepping in his line of fire.

"If you're quite done with your odd vendetta against the table and whatever poor sod you pinned to it, I'll be taking that." Taking back the gun and flipping on the safety, before tucking it into the back of my trousers.

"no actually, I wasn't" two multiworded answers in one sitting, I was on a roll!

"wasn't a question _'Lockie,_ now help me with the table." The nickname had a certain appeal to it but I think I rather preferred 'Sherlock', the word called to mind the great aura that billowed out from the man and indeed seemed perfectly suited to him.

"are you honestly going to persist on calling me that?" the name certainly suited him now with all that sniping.

"only when you're being especially insufferable." I jibed, setting the table right way up and scooting it back into its proper place.

There was no verbal response to my words but when I looked up Sherlock had that quirked smile of his curved on his lips.

I would have to have brunch with Mycroft again if it the end result was Sherlock and I bantering back and forth again like before that damn pool incident, on top of that smile. The table could bugger off.

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><p><strong>Sorry this was so long in coming, but it's been odd balancing both this and school. I'm sure it'll get balanced out soon. Anyway, again another thanks to all the people reading this. Anyone with MDI's would be very helpful. Also, to anyone wondering about the title of this chapter, if you ingnite a mixture of methanol and boric acid you get a green flame. Next chapter will feature another Mycroft date, hope I didn't do to bad with Sherlock's POV.<strong>

**Thanks for Reading! ^w^**


	4. Rasing the Stakes

Salutations everyone!

First, I would like to apologize for taking so long to update this, been swamped with homework and my mom's all in an uproar over getting the house repainted. (their doing something with drywall that's getting dust over everything, my mom's a bit of a neat freak)

Second, this will be a Mycroft date scene that will incorporate some of the various MDI's I have received since starting as well as my own twist. Just a warning; if you squint at this chapter you will see _**slight**_ John/Mycroft. Also, beware of John being a wee bit BAMF-ish.

Also, as of the next chapter I will officially have a Beta! My dearest wifey has agreed to help me with this story. This is doubly good for you guys, as it mean that I'll be working on this story twice as much and have someone who won't let me fall behind. Even with wifey, I would still like to hear any ideas you guys have for MDI's or anything else. Now that that's been said, on with the story! Oh wait…

**Disclaimer: Don't own BBC's Sherlock, now on with story!  
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><p><strong>Raising the Stakes<strong>

**John's POV**

John had had a few rather odd couple of days. Sherlock, who had all but ignored him before, seemed to both want to keep ignoring him and not leave him alone at all. He'd been saved from both when Lestrade had called by the day before with a robbery and double homicide. Sherlock had looked around the home of the deceased, asked him to examine both bodies, (straight forward blunt force trauma to the back of the head on the husband, and asphyxiation due to strangulation to the wife) accosted Anderson and Sally, spouted off random facts about the crime scene and left with a dramatic swirl of his coat and John on his heel.

Once they had slid into a cab and were on their way back to the flat Sherlock had informed him (at John's prompting) that this was part of a chain of robberies that had occurred all across London, also that the killer had staked out the house and hadn't wanted to murder either of them. (The thief was already inside the house John. Husband and wife were out for the evening, judging from his watch and her necklace; I'd say a gala held by his firm. They came home early; he couldn't hold his drink, obviously. They surprised him, as evident by the scuffs in the middle of the floor. The robber had clearly had no intention to kill them or he would have had a gun or some other weapon, had to use what was available to him.)

After they had reached the flat Sherlock had proceeded to grab John's laptop and drape himself over the sofa. John had made them both tea, which Sherlock ignored. John flicked on the tellie, flipping through channels before settling on some quiz game. They continued in this fashion for almost two hours before Sherlock snapped his laptop closed harshly(Sherlock!) and rushed to the door calling for John to follow over his shoulder.

As it turned out, the detective had discovered where the thief was going to rob next. This led them to a rather comfy looking home just north of Victoria Park. It also led them chasing the crook 'round said comfy home. They'd ended up catching him of course, after it'd started to pour buckets and the man had nearly run headlong into traffic. Sherlock texted Lestrade and they were walking back to the main road to hail a cab when it happened.

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><p>Shiny black car pulling up alongside, tiny beads streaming over its surface. Sherlock had tensed beside him, glaring fiercely at the rear window facing them. The car had stopped the few feet ahead of the pair, door opening to reveal one Mycroft Holmes. (Honestly who else could it be?) The elder Holmes had met the youngers glare with a barely concealed smugness. Mycroft opened his umbrella before stepping out of the car and walking to meet them.<p>

"Sherlock, John" was his greeting, accompanied by a nod. Which John returned. Sherlock…not so much.

"**Mycroft**" You didn't need to be a genius to feel the animosity flowing between the two siblings.

"Now don't be that way Sherlock" Mycroft mused, shifting his weight to both feet, fully prepared to go up against his brother in verbal warfare. John sighed and nestled into himself, shivering, wanting to forego the up and coming battle in favor of the kettle and hot shower that waited for him back home.

Mycroft, of course, saw his discomfort and placed himself close enough to John so that they were now both covered by Mycroft's large umbrella. John offered him a smile of thanks and shifted closer to the ginger haired Holmes, not noticing the way his flatmate had frozen across from him.

"John?" Mycroft inquired, not sparing a glance for his, now glaring, baby brother. John hummed his reply.

"I was wandering if you might have wanted to accompany me to the opera this evening, perhaps dinner if you were so inclined." John found he could little more than stare at his friends older brother wondering if he'd heard right. If the man who was the British government had really just invited him out, to the opera. Glancing at both men's faces told that 'yes, yes he had.' It also left him with a feeling of being completely buggered.

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><p><strong>Mycroft's POV<strong>

Mycroft was very pleased with himself. After just one early brunch, his brother had apparently vetoed his previous decision to barricade John from his crime scenes. This was getting easier all the time.

It had been simple enough to track his brother's movements through his chase with the doctor, slightly more difficult to time his arrival at just the right moment, and no great trial to offer shelter to John. In fact, he'd a great more satisfaction from seeing his younger relation freeze in an uncharacteristic display of shock. Mycroft was rather attached to his umbrella; he had rarely ever used it to shield anyone other than himself.

It wasn't hard to make his offer of opera to John. He was sure that John would acquiesce to his request being the agreeable person he was. A look at his brother face told him otherwise. The frozen shock upon his face had melted to one Mycroft knew very well, unabashed smugness.

"An opera?" the disconcertion in the man's voice only served to add inches onto his brother's smirk. He felt an atypical need to retreat and lick his wounds.

"If you'd rather not, then perhaps-"

"Have you ever been to see Wicked?" Mycroft Holmes was not one that was used to being interrupted by anyone. (Save Sherlock but that was another matter entirely) Of course Mycroft had heard of the play in which the doctor referred, he could not say that he had seen it though. He moved his head in the appropriate motion and waited for the doctor to make himself clear. He was greatly intrigued when instead John smiled slyly and pulled out his phone.

As the smaller man punched in the desired number and held the device to ear he couldn't help sparing a glance to his brother. He was slightly relieved to see that Sherlock appeared to not know what the doctor was up to either.

"Hello Paul, wouldn't still happen to have those tickets by any chance." A grin here "wonderful, I'll be popping by shortly then. Say 'hi' to Donna for me? You too, see you then." He ended the call and pocketed his phone before turning to meet the mirrored curious looks of the Holmes brothers.

"Would it be possible to swing by the flat while you round back to your place before we head out?" John had phrased it as a question but Mycroft was sure that any answer he gave would result in the same conclusion, even if he wasn't quite sure what it was. (Tickets to a play, he'd gathered, though he wasn't exactly sure just what John had planned)

"Of course, though I can't say I know what you are planning to achieve." Sherlock didn't either, from what he could tell.

"Mycroft, I think it's time to how you how us normal, dull people paint the town red," John was simply smiling contently now. "Besides I owe you from brunch earlier this week."

"I'm sure Mycroft has already taken back whatever was owed him by you in spades by now John, most likely in the form of surveillance footage." Sherlock simpered, looking hard at the man in question.

"Sherlock, please, it's not like he spies on me in the shower, and I already had the tickets anyway." John shrugged, nonchalant in the face an increasingly irate Sherlock.

"Why not ask me to go?" For an alleged sociopath, Sherlock had been very expressive in these past few minutes. Not seeming to mind getting poured on by buckets of precipitation.

"Because you would hate it, then probably delete it. It be a waste of time, Mycroft at least might enjoy it." Mycroft was a little touched that John had been so thoughtful of him. Sherlock was not impressed.

John simply shook his head, choosing to ignore the child Sherlock had transformed into. He checked his phone for the time before turning back to face Mycroft.

"Mycroft after we get back to the flat, it would be helpful if you went and changed as well. Something not so businessy." John then proceeded to guide Sherlock back to the vehicle, still parked at the curb. Mycroft found himself following behind the pair, mentally making himself a note to take the surveillance cameras out of the shower.

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><p>An hour and a half later saw Mycroft and John sitting in surprisingly good seats of a play he was actually enjoying. Though John had been right, Sherlock would have hated it. The military man had had more sense than he'd given him credit for.<p>

Once the show was over Mycroft and John piled into his car where the doctor surprised him by telling the driver an address he wasn't familiar with. They arrived at a nondescript building less than half an hour later. John had marched them straight past the man inside the door, even sending a nod and smile his way.

They skipped the counter and went directly into a room filled with firearms.

"Ever played paintball before?" Whatever Mycroft had expected, it certainly wasn't this. John decided to take his silence as a firm, tentative no.

"Ever fired an actual gun?" Mycroft nodded, a spark of eagerness flared up as he deduced what was being asked of him.

"Well same thing, a little bit heavier and much less potentially dangerous, but similar." John's mischievous grin was back "it'll smart something awful though."

"Then I'll have to do my best to not be hit." Mycroft couldn't remember the last time he'd been so excited about something so seemingly trivial. A question popped up in the back of his mind at that point, remembering how John had simply waltzed them in passed the, frankly very large, bodyguard as well as back at the theater. John seemed to have picked up how to read him from the prolonged contact with Sherlock because it wasn't long before he replied to his unasked question

"You're not the only person in the city with some connections you know, now shut up that over active brain of yours and pick up a gun." Mycroft shook his and picked up a gun on his left. John fitted it with a canister containing decently sized red balls, presumably filled with paint. John then handed him a vest and helmet.

"Come along Mycroft, let's see what you got." John grinned wide, the trill of adrenaline no doubt making itself comfortable inside the army veteran. Mycroft took his challenge, a similar rush flooding though him. He really should come 'round more often, John was just full of surprises.

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><p><strong>Again, I am very sorry for having taken so long. I'm also sorry that there wasn't a whole lot of Sherlock in this one but i promise the next will plenty enough to make up for it. ;P<strong>

**Hope you liked it, MDI's welcomed and a shout out to all those who have already sent them in. please review!**

**Thanks for reading! ^w^**


	5. All's Fair

Hello all!

I'm super excited about all the reviews I've been getting lately on this story, keep 'em coming! Anyway I hope I haven't made you wait too long for this story. A shout out to all of my current reviewers and MDI givers Lovely thoughts, mutedmockingbird, xelloss100, power0girl, Margarette, Suishou Haruka, Suishou Haruka, kutoki, ladyhappy, NivalKenival, Dark knightress, Kira Ferris, InvaderVyn, SilverSmile, Zarra Rous, whatthehellwasithinkin, p, PhrasesForTheYoung, alrock6, nMu, LaTiL, Moglie, and BeyondBloodBath. Thank you all so much!

Also for those of you who may be wondering about my wifey, she's not really my wife. After you reach a certain level of friendship with me I give you a mortifying nickname, I **was** calling her Minney but it somehow came out wifey and she turned a very interesting shade of pink, thus a nickname was born! Yay! Sorry if Sherlock seems a little off kilter.

**Disclaimer: don't own Sherlock, BBC does and they won't sell him to me! Meanies. T.T**

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><p><strong>All's fair<strong>

**Mycroft's POV**

The lights of the paintball battlefield were dim and tinted greens. The setting obviously meant to be a jungle, or likewise environment with trees and unsteady terrain. Mycroft had to admit that they'd done a reasonable job. He also had to hand it to John for taking him here. It was a rather stimulating prospect, going up the ex-army captain. He was currently crouched in a dip made by two of the trees, deliberating his battle strategy. While it was clear that he was superior to John in intellect and had not inconsiderable skill in strategizing, he was very aware that he was playing on the doctor's field. _'The home field advantage'_ yes John was at the advantage with his expertise but perhaps Mycroft could still out play him.

Plan set, the now fully armored Mycroft moved low to the ground, taking care to stay to the right. He approached the tallest of the trees and preformed a complete circle around the base, scoping out the nearby foliage for his target. Assured that the cost was clear the eldest of the Holmes set about climbing up the branches of the White Oak. Once he was at a reasonable height he began his scan of the area around him. The area was mostly silent with occasional animal and general nature sounds coming from the speakers situated in various rocks and trees. Not spotting the one he was looking for he made his descent to the forest floor.

Slowly he started to spiral his way out from the tree, making sure to keep his back covered from John possible fire. This plan was working well up until he was met with a boulder that indented a pond. The water was a blue-green that reminded him of the Holmes summer house that had a much bigger pond not a mile behind it. The problem this presented was that the bolder appeared to be encircled three fourths the way around, the only way to check it without giving up his position was to circle around on the dry land.

It was a perfect blind spot for an ambush, one Mycroft himself might have used. It was for this reason that Mycroft readied his weapon and inched to the targeted location in a wide arch. It was also for this reason that Mycroft back was soundly pounded on by John Hamish Watson, who was staked out in a tree 30 meters away.

John was right, it stung like hell.

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><p><strong>Sherlock's POV <strong>(finally!)

Sherlock hadn't truly known what to do this past week. His mind had been completely divided. On one hand if he kept John close the man would just keep being in danger and, subsequently, getting hurt. (Yes, because of him) On the other hand, if he kept pushing John away he'd be pushing him straight into Mycroft's, poshly suited, arms. (Which he **would not** let happen, John was too good for Mycroft, too good for Sherlock too.)

On another hand, (he had one resting in a tub of butter in the fridge, thank you) if he did nothing John would still go with Mycroft, or maybe some Jane, Bethany, or Marry. These things were all bit not good as far as Sherlock was concerned. He knew that he probably wouldn't be able to function properly without John. (Who else would tell him 'bit not good' when he did something morally or socially wrong?)

Indeed if this entire situation with Mycroft had taught him anything, it was that he needed John. He'd spent the first half hour while John was with his brother shooting the table, sans the picture of said brother. After he'd taken out his anger on the table all he was left with was a deep sense of emptiness, one that reminded him of a Sherlock pre-John. Only it was worse.

All he could think about was what Mycroft could be talking to John about and then think that he should be happy, John's time with Mycroft might convince him to leave. (He know Mycroft's presence often did that to him) This thought was immediately followed by a very loud and vehement _'NO!' _He felt that dark abyss open wider at the prospect of running about the streets of London alone, coming home to an empty flat, talking with only his skull as an audience. It left him abandoned in a corner.

No he would not be letting John go. But he couldn't hold him to close, Sherlock knew that he felt different about John, there was no sense in letting **that** be the cause of his leaving. Sherlock had felt he'd done a good job in his new approach with John. Keeping the man with him on cases and making sure there was distance at the flat. (Namely by turn his back to his flat mate and letting him assume that Sherlock was ignoring him. He really wasn't)

He'd known that his plan had gone pear-shaped when he'd first spotted the nondescript car pulling up alongside them. Sherlock, for his part was quite content to glare at his brother and ignore his greeting. It wasn't until Mycroft had shared that infernal umbrella with his doctor that he'd noticed the threat the elder Holmes presented. There was a reason Mycroft was always with that umbrella, it was _special _to him. He would share it with anyone for no reason. He'd been shell-shocked.

All the way up till Mycroft wanted to take John to the opera. John didn't **do **opera. Wouldn't like being surrounded by people he felt would look down their noses at him if they saw him on the street. (They would, their loss) I could practically feel the frozen shock melt in to a very unremorseful smirk. John always seemed to bring up my emotions more than anyone else.

Then John had to go invite my secretive, shady, bastard of a brother to go see a play with him, as in not me, **him** an aforementioned bastard. It only got worse when we were in his car. I practically lunged for the door when we arrived at the flat. Perhaps I could still convince John that this was a bad idea.

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><p>I, obviously, didn't succeed in deterring John for spending more time than I deemed necessary with Mycroft. The man absolutely refused to acknowledge my superior logic when it came to dealing with my brother. He has also, according to the theaters program, been gone far more than it was necessary for them to have seen the intended play.<p>

I was starting to get that hollow feeling in my chest again. The same one as before, but seemingly stronger than the last time. Really where was my doctor when I might need him, he would know what stupid silly emotion was currently eating at my heart.

I was pulled from my emotions by the sound of the street door closing and two pairs of shoes ascending the stairs. One was clearly Mycroft (abominable, thrice-damned umbrella swinging, brushing the stair steps every other step, odd, maybe tired? No scratch that sore, it shows so clearly in his stepping pattern) the other was one whose footsteps I would know from the whole of London. (Slight strut in his step, limp nowhere to be found, he's proud.) Given all that, _'John's back'_ was the only phrase running continuously through my mind.

It was only when the door was opened and John '_**John'**_ stepped in, _beaming,_ followed by a resigned, almost simpering, Mycroft that the picture started to become clear. John had done something (not sure precisely what, but likely something semi-dangerous) that had caused Mycroft his soreness._ John was bringing me his trophy._ Like a cat brings it's kill to its owner. The notion of John being mine added yet another emotion to the ever growing pile, what was he doing to me.

"Was this well and truly necessary John." Mycroft grumbled. That empty space from before was quickly being filled to the brim with affection for the man that had caused his brother such discomfort.

"I can assure you Mycroft, it most definitely was." The triumphant soldier seemed to also be brimming with emotion.

"I have a board meeting tomorrow." Oh Mycroft was practically whining. This was glorious! Emotional brim was nearing critical capacity.

"It's not my fault you decided to not use the sense you were born with." John's warm eyes sparked in challenge, beaming grin making him look five years younger. The emotion spilled out.

I barely even registered when Mycroft left with a disdainful huff and stiff movements. John was practically _giggling._ I had the sudden urge to be in contact with him. To touch him somehow. When John stopped laughing at my brother he grinned at me. Almost the same grin he gave when I did something well and truly clever. I found I could not stop myself from copying what I seen so many others do. I stretched my arms out and around as far they could go and shifted as close as I could.

I was hugging John, very intimately. John who moved in with me after I'd deduced him and his sister, John who had shot the cabbie, John who always said 'brilliant' when others said 'freak', John who had seen too much war but wanted to see more, John who always followed, John who had saved my life almost at the cost of his own, John who didn't run at my experiments but was interested in them, John who had somehow shown up my brother in a way that left him unable to move without discomfort, John who had presented this to me like a trophy, John who was morally sound and good, John who chose me over everyone else, John who always came when I asked him to, my John who I was hugging. My John who I was completely and utterly, reversibly in love with.

My world did a funny little dance on its axis, switched its gravitational pull, and started spinning the other way around. It was good that I was holding onto John as tightly as I was. Otherwise I might've fallen under the weight of a very new, very intrusive, yet not so very unwelcome emotion. In the chaos of my usually highly organized brain (organized by my standards, apparently John feels otherwise) I found a sensible question and clung to it. Overriding the disarray with a sudden need to know,

"What on earth did you do to him, John?"

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><p><strong>I hope you liked it! Anyone with pointer or MDI's or any other comments, please review! The next Chapter will feature a grand ol' tug-of-war between the Holmes brother, don't miss it!<strong>

**Thanks to all the people who have read this! ^w^**


	6. Love and War

Hello again everyone! Sorry that this was so long in coming. This one is all in John's pov and there is John/Sherlock fluff at the end! Yay! this chapter also has a line from the Sherlock movie with Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law. Also I have fixed the mistake I made in the perspectives of the last chapter.

**Disclaimer: not mine...  
><strong>

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><p><strong>Love and War<strong>

**John's POV  
><strong>

Remember when I said that last week had been the oddest week of my life? I was wrong; _this week_ had been the oddest week of my life. Apparently when two genii decide have a friend they don't like sharing. Throw in a big, whopping dollop of sibling rivalry and you've got yourself one hell of a party. It's true, if I'd seen them doing this to some other poor sod, I would've kicked up my feet and grabbed a pint. But it wasn't some other poor sod, it was me and I was getting annoyed.

After my glorious victory over the elder Holmes, and later hugging of the younger Holmes following the presentation of said victory, I'd assumed that it was all fine. I really need to stop doing that, it only invites more bit not good things into my already skewed life. Take four nights ago for example.

It had been just two days after I'd gotten a rather unexpected but mist definitely welcome hug from Sherlock. Lestrade had come by with another case (smuggling ring), not really very hard at all according to Sherlock. We'd been just across the street from the smugglers' warehouse waiting for Lestrade when he'd asked me.

"John, when Lestrade finally gets here and we get this dull case over with, would you be inclined to go and watch a movie with me." I was almost sure that I felt my neck pop from the speed at which I whipped my head around. Sherlock was fidgeting about on the chair he'd pulled in front of the window to observe the warehouse undetected, his eyes fixated on his shoes.

"A movie?" I couldn't help asking. I was almost sure I'd dreamed it. Sherlock had said it before, that he wasn't interested, hadn't he?

"Is that not right?" His brow was furrowed, he looked genuinely worried. "I have no idea how to go about these things John, you'll have to be indulgent of my mistakes on this issue." This issue? Oh Lord, was he asking me on a date? It certainly seemed so.

"No, no, it's fine. Just not something I was expecting you to ask me." That seemed to ease his thoughts slightly because the lines on his forehead disappeared and small grin made its way onto his lips.

"So you would like to go then, with me?" He had this look in eyes, like I would disappear any second. Well I'd have to set that to rights, I was almost certain that nothing short of a zombie apocalypse could make me disappear. On second thought no, I'd still be around, if only to keep Sherlock from playing scientist on the poor devils.

"Yes Sherlock, I'd like to go." I might as well have informed him that I'd stolen his brother's umbrella (he really did seem to hate the thing) for the smile that stretched his face. I couldn't help but grin in return.

After Lestrade arrived Sherlock had all but charged the poor inspector, telling him this and that because of the color of the victim's shoes and the dirt under his nails. He then pointed towards the building we'd been watching explaining that was the smugglers main warehouse and complaining about it being dull and boring. He then proceeded to grab my hand (sending jolts all the way up my arm to rest in a warm ball in my chest, Sherlock had nice hands.) and drag me.

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><p>The movie was actually entertaining, full of action and mystery, quite enjoyable really. When the movie was over and we were on our way out Sherlock suddenly moved from my right side to my left. This was odd because Sherlock, being right-handed, naturally gravitated to my right side. This was convenient for both of us since it left both of our dominant hands free. (Me being a lefty) It was enough to make me search around for what had caused his displacement. It was then that he'd spotted the shiny black car that was leisurely trailing behind us.<p>

Mycroft had been interesting to hang around lately and was becoming something of a friend, so I stopped walking and waved the car over. (Because honestly who else could own an anonymous, shiny, black car that tailed Sherlock?) He didn't even have to look to see the scowl on his partner's face.

When the car pulled up to sit beside them the door opened but the eldest Holmes didn't step out. He simply leaned out and said

"Good film then John." This was clearly not a question, John knew the difference quite well by now. He answered anyway.

"Bit good actually." The scowl on Sherlock lessened. "How was that board meeting of yours?" Lips turned upwards, a smirk taking up residence on his face. The scowl had moved to the other Holmes lips.

"Uncomfortable." Mycroft quipped tapping that umbrella of his on the floor if his car. "Moving on, might I be able to interest you in dining with me?" All I'd really had to eat was toast this morning and handful of biscuits for lunch, a real meal was sounding great to me. And if Mycroft felt like talking like old chums, well I could deal with that.

"Budge over then." I said waving at him to move to the other side. "Coming Sherlock?" I asked, pausing at the car door.

"I think not." He sniffed, turning his head to look up the street. "I'll catch a taxi." Guess I couldn't really expect for him to act civil towards his 'arch-nemesis'.

"At least eat something when you get back home?" I sighed. Sherlock hadn't eaten anything since the breakfast I had made him. Which he really only half ate.

"Fine." He said briskly. It was probably the best he would get out his insane flatmate, so he just nodded and got in Mycroft's car.

Dinner had been nice, the conversation was good, and the company not so off-putting anymore. (Shooting a person in the arse tends to have that effect) After I'd gotten back to the flat, I'd been no less than smothered by the consulting detective. The man had wrapped his arms around me and pressed my face into his chest.

He'd proceeded to manhandle me across the flat to the sofa where he plopped me down at one end and drape himself over both me and the sofa. We'd watched crap tellie all night and fallen asleep on the sofa.

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><p>The days following that had been much the same. Either Sherlock or Mycroft would take me to some theater, cinema, restraint, or what have you then the other brother would be waiting outside or up the street to take me somewhere else. I felt very much like a Ping-Pong ball being served back and forth across the table. It was starting to get fed up with the whole thing. I would have been nice if it were just Sherlock, very nice in fact, it was the fact that the brother seemed to be fighting over me like I was their shiny new toy that bugged me.<p>

Apparently Sherlock was starting to get frustrated too. The game they were playing was fierce today. Sherlock and I went to breakfast, Mycroft took me out to a museum, Sherlock shanghaied me when I went to get a drink, Mycroft intercepted us before we got out the door, they traded off when finishing showing me around, Sherlock snuck us out and took me to lunch, which Mycroft joined halfway through. We had all gotten back to the flat in a cloud of hostility and snarky comments when Sherlock had, obviously, had enough.

"Mycroft, I want you to stop this annoying habit of stealing John when you find yourself without a civil war to plan or an election to organize." He snipped hatefully, glaring icily at his brother.

"Please Sherlock, why can't you simply believe that I want nothing more than to spend time with the good doctor?" Mycroft seemed almost amused, which only served to make Sherlock more irate.

"Shall I answer chronologically or alphabetically?" Sherlock seethed stepping closer to Mycroft.

"Well then, I suppose we should settle this." Mycroft's eyes had a mischievous glint to them that I'd come to associate with Sherlock when he'd gone halfcocked on one of his experiments. Not good then.

"Yes we should." Sherlock spun towards me, reaching and pulling me so that I was between the two brothers. He then stepped back so that he and Mycroft were the same distance from me on opposite sides. "Come on then John, pick the one of us you like best."

If my expression looked anything like I felt, I was surprised that my eyes hadn't popped out of my sockets. They weren't honestly thinking-no of course they were, they Sherlock and Mycroft bloody buggering Holmes. I couldn't deal with this right now.

"I need a drink." Looking towards the kitchen, I remembered that I was an Englishman. I made a beeline for the kettle.

"John, I can't keep up these activities for much longer, they are making me incredibly exasperated." Sherlock breathed out, clearly ruffled.

"Sherlock, excuse me if I am somewhat confused, and I know I'm not near as smart as you so feel free to correct this, but I was under the impression that until recently you _wanted_ me to move out and away from you." I spoke as I made my tea.

"That was before I realized that I-"Sherlock abruptly cut himself off. He couldn't have been about to say…well that would put a whole new spin on this situation. I abandoned my newly made cuppa on the counter and quickly made my way over to my crazy, mad, brilliant, best friend, and soon maybe more.

"I like you too." I grabbed that big, idiotic, genius head of his and brought his lips against mine. A light brushing at first that rapidly evolved into something more passionate.

"My work here is done." I heard distantly as Mycroft made his leave. I'd have to remember to thank the man at some point.

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><p><strong>Hope you all enjoyed it! I couldn't resist using the line from the Sherlock movie. For future reference, do you want John or Sherlock to be the seme? <strong>

**I like it either way so I might swap back and forth with them. Any MDI's are more than welcome and reviews make both me and wifey very happy.**

**Thanks for reading ^/^**


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